


In the Altogether

by anonorama



Category: Sofia the First (Cartoon)
Genre: Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, F/M, NSFW, Nude Modeling, Oral Sex, Smut, They are significantly aged up in this, after school shenanigans, art lessons, hugo is having feelings?? what??, minor canon divergence possibly?, technically in universe, vivian is a bisexual bab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonorama/pseuds/anonorama
Summary: Vivian needs someone to model for her. Hugo is all too happy to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this gathering dust on my hard drive for SO LONG. haven't really been into this fandom much anymore but i thought this idea was too good to waste away! so i finally got around to finishing/editing it. hope you enjoy~

 

Vivian feels rather awkward asking Hugo to take his clothes off for her. 

Well, scratch that. She feels _considerably_ awkward (If, by ‘considerably’, one meant ‘about to combust on the spot from sheer embarrassment’). She has to keep reminding herself she doesn't mean it in _that_ way at _all._

But that doesn't help prepare her for what she's about to do.

Her artistic pursuits, as of late, have been developing very well, and she's pleased at her own improvement. Hailing from a kingdom unique in its high regard of “appreciating aesthetic diversions and exposures” made certain every royal was well versed in the arts, and, as she'd been told since she was young, practice does make perfect.

The highest and most creative minds of the era are praising her abilities, and even with her own modesty, she's proud of herself. Her works for the most part consist of nature scenes, still lifes, dragons – things she saw regularly or were familiar with, and thus could portray in paint with ease.

But Vivian had been finding it increasingly difficult to paint humans, to truly capture their essence on canvas. She could record their appearance easily but breathing real _life_ into the pictures, making them look organic and believable – that was the hard part.

She decides she needs a model to study – a _nude_ model, in any case, as layers of clothes would disguise the way the body works – and furthermore, a nude _male_ model. Her kingdom is matriarchal, and there are plenty of other young women in her classes to... study.

For someone of her nature, it seems to Vivian a traumatic favor to ask and she spends several days agonizing over the inescapable future and ensuing awkwardness, but ultimately she decides who it must be.

 _And,_ she fervently repeats to herself, _it has_ nothing _to do with how attractive she may-or-may-not find him, nothing at ALL, thank you very much._

Vivian stands outside the doorway of his final class at the end of the school day, anxiously fiddling with her hair, wishing she could just dissolve into the ground rather than do what she's about to do, but she's already spent the entire week working up the nerve and deciding it has to be _today_ –

She almost misses him as he saunters into the hallway, not even glancing at her, and she hurriedly steps over to him – maybe a little too hurriedly – grabbing his sleeve to get his attention.

“H-Hugo!” she gasps, berating herself for stuttering. “Um, Prince Hugo. I, um...”

Vivian falters, words failing her, throat catching as Hugo looks her over with his dark eyes and slightly pouting expression. _Why_ does he always manage to vaporize her thoughts, turn her resolve to jelly, and reduce her to a stumbling mess?

She knows why, but she doesn't want to admit it.

“Princess Vivian,” he greets her, finally, scrutinizing her in that manner he has that's somehow both intimidating and seductive at the same time.

“I...” Vivian tries to speak – tries to force out the words she's forming in her head – but she can't do it, she just _can't_.

“... how are you?” she manages lamely.

He's silent for a moment, sizing her up before curtly responding. “Fine, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to –”

“W-wait! No, wait!” She grabs his arm again before he can leave and his eyes are on her, drilling holes into her and she's paralyzed with fear but chokes, “I was wondering if... if I could ask you a favor.”

His eyes brighten a bit with curiosity, eyebrows knit slightly, intrigued. His glance skims over Vivian and he licks his lips, causing her to squirm. “What sort of favor?”

She wants to stop, every fibre in her body screams at her to back off and run home before she embarrasses herself, but she steels her nerve, bites her lip, powers through despite the stuttering and pressure of Hugo's attention. “Well, I-I have an art project that, that I'm working on for school, you know, and I need to p-practice drawing, the human figure, to improve, but I don't really have any subjects and I just, I just hope- I wondered if, if you could maybe model for me while I draw you?”

Her heart is hammering, lungs short of breath at the effort it cost her to force the words out, feeling physically winded at the exertion.

The gears turn in Hugo's head as he considers the proposition and realizes exactly what she's asking of him. “You mean, like... you need to draw me… _naked?”_

She knows she's blushing horrendously, and Hugo's bluntness (not to mention the grin creeping on his face) does nothing to help it. “Um, I mean, not if you don't _want_ to be, I guess you can still wear your underclothes, I just need to study human musculature and physiology...”

But Hugo isn't listening to her; he's grinning like a shot fox and running over whatever ridiculous fantasies he indulges himself in. “Nude modelling. Nice. I didn't know you paint _those_ kind of pictures, Viv.”

“I don't paint _those kind of pictures_ ,” she hisses, mortified, but Hugo's laughing it off.

 _At least he finds it humorous,_ Vivian thinks grimly.

“So, where are we doing this?” Hugo asks her. “The art room or whatever? 'Cause I have no idea where else –”

“Y-you mean – today? Right _now?_ ”

He shrugs. “Sure. You have everything you need, right?”

She does, but she didn't anticipate Hugo immediately agreeing to the prospect. If it were her, she'd need at least a week of mental preparation beforehand.

But she _does_ need to get it over with, and Hugo did agree. The last thing she wants is for him to change his mind, and she’d have to find someone not quite as accommodating.

So Vivian walks Hugo down to the side wing of the school, the art wing, as always nearly empty after classes are over. Their footsteps echo on the stone floor, the atmosphere heavy with that disconcerting, barren after-school feeling.

Hugo breaks the silence. “Why did you ask me?”

“E-excuse me?”

He scoffs. “For your project. It's not like there aren't a bunch of other princes you could've asked to model for you.”

There's a hint of playfulness in his voice, and when Vivian looks up to meet his eyes, she sees the teasing in them.

“...I knew you'd say yes,” she replies, and he laughs a little because he can't argue with that, and Vivian tries to convince herself that that's _definitely_ the reason why and any latent attraction for Hugo _certainly_ did not influence her desire to draw him naked.

Because, she totally doesn't feel that way. At all.

In due course, Vivian finds herself at the last classroom tucked away in the farthest edge of the school, the general arts classroom used for the upper-level students.

She unlocks the door, steps inside of the small room made spacious by the sparse amount of furniture and tall window letting in the fading afternoon light. A few cabinets line one wall, a paint-spattered metal sink crouches in the corner, easels circle the room along with a few stools, but other than that the room is practically empty.

Vivian drops her bag by her favorite easel, only too aware of Hugo's presence as he looks over the room.

“So. This is where the magic happens, huh?”

Vivian sets her sketchpad on the easel, looking critically over the top of it. “If you could stand right there, please.”

He complies (looking way too damn happy about it) and Vivian hesitates.

“You can... um, well... your...” She gestures vaguely, feeling flustered and unsure.

Fortunately, (or, perhaps, unfortunately) Hugo understands her well enough (quite possibly from experience) and chuckles as he begins to undo the buttons on his vest. “Listen, if you ever want me to strip for you, you can just go ahead and ask.”

Vivian drops her eyes, blushing, as Hugo looks directly at her and casually shrugs off the vest, tossing it over the nearest easel. “No shame in it. It's just the two of us, you know.”

She does know, knows all too well, and for that reason she snatches for her bags and digs in the depths, searching for a pencil and trying to cover the glances she can't help but take as more of his skin becomes exposed.

His confidence and easy remarks are somehow _incredibly_ alluring. She half-wishes she could have that level of self-assurance such an awkward situation.

 

:;

 

Hugo grins smugly to himself, fully aware of Vivian's stilted, covert peeks as he unbuttons his shirt. 

 _She's very funny, isn't she?_ he thinks absently, pulling the shirt away and feeling the slightly chilly air on his skin.

He unties his boots, tosses them aside, and looks up to see Vivian, peering over the top of her easel and glancing hurriedly away once she catches his eye.

“Y'know, if you can't even look at me now, I don't see how you're gonna be able to draw me later,” he trills, knowing it'll fluster her further.

In another moment he's kicking the pants off his legs – this isn't too awkward at all, is it? – and that's when he hesitates for the first time, reality setting in.

Hugo is, what could be best described as, sensually liberal, and certainly not one to feel any sort of shame or embarrassment about himself.

Nonetheless, he has some... reservations that he didn't realize existed about getting completely naked for Vivian right now.

He pauses, fingers hovering in the air, doubt creeping in. For some reason, he feels... he doesn't feel right about exposing himself completely.

But he's already hesitated for too long, so he shrugs it off. “Well, this is good enough for you, isn't it? Not like I wasn't already.”

Vivian is starting to feel like the blush will never disappear from her face, but she tries to compose herself. She needs to get this done and over with. “Please move a little bit to the right. No, my right – perfect. If you just turn your torso slightly – put that foot in front –”

He complies, feeling only slightly ridiculous yet enjoying it.

“Just like that.” She flips open her sketchbook, hovers over the page with her pencil. “Now please try not to move until I tell you to.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he says teasingly, but remains still as she begins to block out his form on the paper.

 

:;

 

Though Hugo's life is pampered, and he has never once felt hunger or deprivation, his body shows little trace of it. Flying derby is strenuous as well as physically demanding and to be a good rider it's necessary to be in peak physical condition. This pursuit, combined with his undeniably favorable genetics, are enough to outweigh his laziness and indulgences. 

His body is lean and muscular, well-balanced and strong. He has a striking profile and jaw structure, and even though she hates to admit it, Vivian cannot deny that in every regard, Hugo is very good-looking.

She details the musculature of his arms, pencil filling in the broadness of his shoulders, the faintness of his ribcage, down to the flat pane of his stomach and the delicate curve of his hips disappearing under –

She swallows, and hurriedly fills a few vague strokes to suggest his groin. She doesn't wish to dwell on the swooshing feeling she has in her midsection.

“Now, turn around and face more to the front, please – and tilt your head – just like that.”

This is how it goes for a while: the room silent, almost uncomfortably so, with only the sound of their breathing and Vivian's pencil scratching the paper.

 _“Please_ try to stay put,” she grumbles, annoyed as he shifts slightly. “I can’t finish the pose if your hand is in two different places.”

“But I've been standing up here for half an hour!” Hugo gripes, obviously uneasy from being still for so long.

“You’ll get a break very soon. I just want to make sure I have several different angles,” Vivian replies evenly, focusing on replicating his pout through his furrowed brow and slight scowl.

Truth be told, she may or may not have spaced out once or twice while studying him, but she can't be blamed for that.

 

:;

 

Hugo’s mind wanders as he forces his body to remain as still as possible, but his muscles are cramped and he feels impatient and tense. He considers himself _somewhat_ athletic, but modelling is proving to be far more taxing than he could have thought. The silence and stillness are starting to make him antsy and he tries to keep his mind busy, focusing on a painting of a flower on the far wall. 

The second Vivian tells him he can relax, he does so, exhaling loudly as he drops his arms and stretches his exhausted limbs.

She's still focused on her book, scribbling in a few more details, before he asks – hesitantly – “Can I see?"

She falters, glances up at him, looking nervous, but manages, “O-okay.”

Hugo jumps over, feeling oddly nervous, and she hands him the book which he takes with surprising delicateness.

His fingers reverently touch the rough edges of the paper, examining her drawings.

For a moment, he doesn't realize it's supposed to be him portrayed in Vivian's careful strokes. The figure depicted is lean, powerful, and elegant. An actual being of perfection, and Hugo feels ashamed and guilty to be compared with it.

There are similarities, in the dark hair and brooding expression, but with a subtle disconnect that Hugo can't seem to breach.

 _I guess that's art,_ he thinks bitterly, with a sudden newfound appreciation for it.

And, well, for _her_ as well.

Vivian obviously has a talent for it, and he's just a little bit awestruck and envious at her ability to discover and recreate such emotion.

“They're very good,” he tells her, handing it back.

She beams at the compliment. “Thank you. We're almost done, I just want to get a few more shots of you sitting – if you can bring that stool over–”

Hugo does so obediently, one leg propped on the stool, the other angled slightly on the ground, and this time he doesn't complain, sits still, lets his mind wander, because –

Vivian _is_ very cute, isn't she, in her own way?

He hasn't really paid much attention to her before – because she doesn't really draw attention to herself – but there _is_ something there, something reflective of what she portrays in her drawings. A purity, almost, but moreso in a clarity of soul.

He has no idea how chaste she is – he would _imagine_ fairly so, but he has no clue – but he feels like her purity is something even farther down than that.

Her demureness and quiet intelligence are refreshing and intriguing, particularly compared to the often demanding females he usually encounters.

And it doesn't hurt that she's not half-bad looking – especially now, focused and intent on her work, eyebrows furrowed, tongue clenched between teeth, long ebony hair thrown carelessly over her shoulder.

All in all, Hugo is surprised by just how attractive he finds her.

She leans forward to retrieve a fallen pencil – exposing her cleavage for a moment, and Hugo blinks, swallows, feels guilty but very, very much turned on.

He feels her eyes on him, her pencil dancing and tracing and recreating his image on the paper almost as if it were actually moving along his skin.

He swallows again – and feels a stirring down below.

_Oh hell. God damnit._

He hopes she won't notice, casually angles his leg to hide it and feels more flustered, which of course only increases his arousal further.

_Come ON._

Like any adolescent male, Hugo isn't too unfamiliar with the plight of an awkward, poorly-timed boner, and he knows a few tricks to coping with them.

He exhales shakily, trying to calm down but only feeling more turned on until his arousal is pressed throbbing against his pants.

Okay. Calm. Think of something gross.

He pictures those old fairy hags that run the school, the warty old goblin that lives by the kingdom garden, that pathetic sorcerer from Enchancia. The least arousing things in the world.

Trying to act casually, he breathes slowly until he feels in control.

Okay. Maybe now he can –

“Can you put your legs down now, please? And your arms to the side –”

In that moment, at the sound of her voice, his stomach flips and palms slick and his hard-on is fucking _raging._

“Um, don't you think I'm fine the way I am now?” he asks tremulously. “I mean, it's not necessary to move...”

“I know you’re tired, but I’m not quite done. I need to try some different poses,” she explains patiently. “So if you could please just –”

“Ah, I don't...”

He's panicking, heart thumping, not at all suave or charismatic, and she notices.

Looking slightly annoyed, she rises to her feet and walks over to him. “Hugo, enough with being so stubborn. It’s not even a hard pose.”

Her hands are on his thighs, his breath quickens and he can't look her in the eyes, stares at her hands instead, pale against his skin.

She forces his legs apart, and his breath catches, feeling confused, unsure –

“Hmm. I see,” Vivian says disapprovingly. “You're going about it all wrong. You're way too tense. You need to be more – like this –”

Her hands grab his, and push them behind him so he's gripping the edge of the stool.

Hugo’s eyes are wide, mind blank, staring at Vivian uncomprehendingly. She purses her lips and looks him over critically.

“And your shoulders...” Her hands move up his arms, fingers dragging lightly along his bare skin up to his collarbone, and he feels a thrill of apprehension.

“And your face,” she mutters slowly, fingers moving up to stroke his neck and jawline. “That won't do.”

Before he knows what's happening, her hands are grasping the sides of his face and her lips are pressed against his, so intensely that Hugo is, very uncharacteristically, startled into stillness.

 _Oh,_ he thinks dumbly.

Her breath is warm and gentle on his face, her lips parted as she nibbles and sucks on his lower lip, and with a jolt he realizes – _he_ didn't even initiate it, and he's shocked and slightly put-off.

But the moment he tries to take the reins, lifting his hands off the stool, she withdraws, pushing them firmly back down.

“No, you need to stay _still,”_ she instructs, a barely detectable gleam in her eye, and Hugo is starting to feel a trickle of curiosity to see what's on the other side of this.

He feels Vivian's teeth graze his jawline, forces himself not to shiver, bites his tongue to keep from crying out as her tongue brushes against his neck.

 _Damn,_ he thinks blearily. He never would have thought Vivian had it in her.

Her fingers skim the contours of his muscles down his torso, reminding him of the pencil tracing him on the paper, wondering if she's studying the way his muscles twitch and flex under her feather-light touch.

But she continues further south, and now Hugo's stomach flips in dread and anticipation, Vivian's fingers running over his hipbones that disappear into his underwear, stretched taut, and she's looking over him critically.

“No,” she sighs, “that won't do at all.”

He's puzzling to figure out her motives, why she would come on to him like this, when his mind is wiped completely, blissfully blank because Vivian's fingers –

Hugo didn't know she could move so quickly because in a moment she's darting under the fabric, her touch gentle on his throbbing erection, and he actually does cry out this time, but manages to stifle it.

Her eyes are locked on his, studying his expression, and he swallows and looks away, at a stupid poster of a cat hanging on the wall, because he's embarrassed and he didn't think he could get any harder but – _God_ – her fingers running up his shaft have _really_ proven him wrong.

“Sit up,” she murmurs, and he does so, and in a moment he feels his undergarments yanked out from under him (along with whatever shred of dignity he had remaining), but before he can indignantly protest her thumb strokes his underside and it _feels so good._

Her face is so close to him – tantalizingly, agonizingly close – her hot exhalations on his cock, the pressure of her fingers, and he looks down and her eyebrows are furrowed, concentrating, and before he can do anything her tongue extends to give the tiniest of licks to his tip.

 _Fuck, FUCK,_ he thinks, his hips jerking involuntarily, but she firmly pushes them back.

“I told you to stay still.”

This time she's much more confident, her tongue lazily dragging up his entire length, and his mind goes fuzzy, his eyes swimming, his voice strangled because he's confused, really, and this is not at ALL the way it normally goes.

“Viv,” he pants, “Vivian, I – you don’t have to, you haven’t –”

“Hugo?” Her voice is pleasant, but he can detect the hint of annoyance, and he never really noticed how green her eyes are before. “I know how much you _love_ to hear your own voice, but just for once, try to shut up for a minute.”

And, well, if that wasn’t permission he doesn’t know what is, so he lets her. (Because god-forbid if he isn’t about to fucking _explode.)_

Her hands are still on his hips, pushing him down, nails digging almost painfully, and she’s licking and kissing him and he’s struggling to choke down the embarrassing squeaks in his throat, struggling to resist the urge to tangle his hands in her dark hair, to force his way in her throat –

He isn’t used to teasing, more comfortable with roughness and aggression, and he’s panting and breathing erratically and sweating and he’s not sure where to look, so he closes his eyes until he hears Vivian tell him to open them, to watch her, so he does.

He opens his eyes to look at her, trying to understand how she looks more calm and collected than she has all afternoon, her green eyes quizzically examining his face which, he knows, must be flushed and not at all attractive.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and can’t say anything else.

Vivian smiles slowly, lashes dark over her eyes.

“Just watch,” she says, and without breaking eye contact, she leans in to slowly lick his cock, causing him to shudder violently.

His thoughts dissolve into jelly. His heart is pounding and his eyesight is fuzzy and pleasure courses through his abdomen, but he watches her, watches her mouth touch his cock, and he's so hot it feels cool against him.

 

:;

 

Vivian's not exactly sure what compelled her to do it, but she doesn't dwell on it, doesn't think any more than she has to, tries to forget everything but Hugo. 

She wants to see him, for once, as frazzled as she feels. She wants to leave him breathless and speechless, to see him stuttering and lost for words.

And, _Christ,_ it doesn't hurt how fucking hot he is.

She really didn’t think she’d ever find a boy THAT hot.

Vivian shifts slightly to a more comfortable kneeling position, trying to rid the cramp in her legs.

She never would have thought that her afternoon would end up with her trying to give her first blowjob, but if _Prince Hugo_ pops a boner over you, you’d be damned to let it go to waste. And, in any case, she thinks she's doing a pretty good job.

Hugo's face seems like miles above her, staring down, looking – nervous?

She thinks it's funny. He's probably been blown countless times before. She has no idea how many other girls – or guys – have taken him in, but from his nervousness you'd think it's his first time.

It's right in front of her. She has no idea how big it really is, doesn't particularly care, but it seems daunting to her. And, not all _that_ bad really.

Beads of precum are collecting at his slit, and she curiously licks it.

_Hm._

Feeling unsatisfied, she finally takes the whole thing in her mouth, as much as she can, anyway, a fair length about halfway. With her right hand she grips the rest of the shaft and curls her fingers around his balls.

His taste is slightly musky, actually rather similar to a girl's, but a little bit... thicker.

She curls her tongue around it, licking him thoroughly and sucking, and she feels Hugo’s muscles tense, hears his breathy moans, and she knows that he wants so badly to grab her and take her to guide her on him, to take control of her, but she doesn't give him that pleasure.

Vivian sucks, gently but firmly, his taste strong in her mouth, and she looks up and he's still watching her, panting, flushed, hair tousled, eyes dark. His hands grip the edge of the stool as if it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

She takes him as deep as she can, sucks him tight, and hums softly in the back of her throat.

A shudder wracks through him, and he tilts his head back, gasping, so she hums again, watching the muscles in his abdomen tense.

“Vivian,” he gasps, “I – I'm gonna...”

She knows what he means, feels it in his tight muscles and clenched fingers and short, erratic breaths.

But she's a little unsure of what to do, nervous of what's to come, because she's never been with a guy, before, has she? And there's some things she's not ready for.

She withdraws her mouth, taking a moment to languidly caress the underside with her tongue, and she feels him quivering, trembling, so close, but she wants to watch his face.

Vivian looks up at him, sweaty, disheveled, lacking the composure he normally exudes, and it thrills her.

Her thumbs brush over him once, twice, and he gasps, eyes screw closed, and she feels Hugo come in hot short bursts.

And then it's over. He's left quivering and panting, mind reeling, knuckles white on the edge of the stool.

Vivian rises to her feet, slightly unsteady from her cramped position, but she primly walks over to the sink at the edge of the room and begins to clean herself up.

She continues to listen, taking in his ragged breathing, and as soon as he she hears him shift she calls, “I haven't told you to move yet, have I?”

She's not sure where this side of her came from. It kind of scares her, but she likes it, loves the feeling of control.

Vivian finishes washing up, heads back to her easel, and settles down. There's one last sketch she wants, if only to remember the details exactly.

Hugo is looking at her, eyebrows creased, with an expression that's hard to read. He could be distressed, or regretful, or awestruck.

But for his merit, he hasn't budged.

Vivian draws absently, without really thinking, letting the emotions and feelings of the moment translate onto the paper – a clenched fist, a gasping mouth, tousled hair.

She draws him the way he is now, in his post-coital reverie, and she'll admit, more than a few dicks make it onto the paper.

 _Boys can be okay,_ she reflects quietly to herself. Maybe she doesn't prefer them, but it was interesting to try out. She definitely learned a lot.

She snaps her sketchbook shut.

 

:;

 

“You can move now,” she says, and he's startled by the quiet, demure tone. “You did a great job.”

“Um.” He hates this feeling of being shocked into silence, unable to figure out what to do or say. His mind is still cloudy from orgasm, and it takes him a moment to react.

_This afternoon's been bizarre._

Hugo puts on his undergarments, glances over to her watching him (not even trying to hide it now) and he clumsily dresses the rest of the way before approaching her.

Vivian looks at him, amused, and he takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says hurriedly. “I learned a lot. About art. And stuff.”

“I'm glad it was educational.” She smiles and packs her things.

His heart pounding, he continues, “It was... really inspiring to see what you do. If you ever... um, if you'd be interested, I'd like to have you model for me... sometime. So I can return the favor.”

She turns toward him, and she's smirking and blushing at the same time, but she manages, “Just to be clear, are you referring to art or sex?”

“Shit. Both. Or, well, neither, if you don't want to.” He looks away, feeling self-conscious. “Don't feel obligated to. I know what that's like...”

But Vivian leans in, gently turns his head to capture his lips for a brief kiss. “I'd love to.”

He's blushing too now, but it's not all that bad.

“Wow. God. Thanks, um, I guess.” He exhales shakily, and before he can stop himself, says, “You give a _really_ damn good blowjob, holy shit.”

She laughs, despite blushing immensely. “I'd prefer it if you could keep that between us.”

“Of course.” No way he's letting this get out to anyone else. “What happens in the art room, stays in the art room.”

“Exactly.” She pats his hand approvingly. “You really are a great model. Some of them just don't get that.”

“Wh... some of _them?_ ” Hugo stutters, following to the door.

She chuckles. “You think you're my first? I’ve modeled for people before, too. Maybe I show you some pointers next time.”

Hugo grins. He could really learn to like art.


End file.
